“I love it when a plan comes together”
For Hannibal and his A-Team, things always came together by the end of the episode. Of course, this is every television show. Murders in Cabot Cove are solved in half an hour, Balki tells cousin Larry to not be ridiculous and the cousins get out of whatever awkward social situation they happened in to, Alf doesn’t eat the cat but does shed wisdom on the family’s weekly predicament, Dr. House always gets the diagnosis and saves the patient’s life. If only life’s problems were solved so neatly and in such a timely fashion.
Tuesday marked a week since my job interview in Washington. My intuition told me I didn’t get the job. The reality of having to move and figure out some logistics in short order has been setting in. Yesterday, I spent most of the day in “moving on” mode and looked for jobs. Then I got the call from HR – they would not be extending an offer to me. The HR woman was so nice and apologetic. She said it was a real pleasure having me as a candidate and she hopes the experience was a good one for me and that I wasn’t soured by it. I’m disappointed, but not at all soured. I’ve gotten further in interviews for higher positions – it’s how it goes. They seem like a well-run organization, the interviews were thorough and professional. It felt like it would have been a good fit, and I was liking the idea of living in the Pacific Northwest. It’s always the losing the vision part that sucks.
I don’t really have a plan B or C or D. I’m not at all sure how the plan will come together and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna happen before the credits roll for the half hour episode that was Memphis. I suppose this is one of those double episodes like when the Brady Bunch went to Hawaii or maybe its crossover episode with different CSI teams working a multi-city case. As things stand now, I’m putting my stuff in storage (probably one of those shipping cubes) and taking what I need and Nick the cat and driving to State College. I’m interviewing for a CEO position in a town near State College, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll continue to apply for jobs and do freelance work and just see what happens.
I suspect leaving all of my stuff behind will be, in some respects, liberating. I know it’s the smart thing to do. Right now though, the thought of it is a little unsettling. I’m not terribly attached to my things, but they are the things that I’ve surrounded myself with for years. Without a job, without a partner, and with friends and family far away, my possessions are what I have in life. There is a sense of comfort and of the familiar in what I’ve kept. I suspect it will be a lot like watching television. Eventually, I won’t miss it at all. But I’ll worry about my stuff being several states away – until I don’t.
For me, this is one of the core struggles within. Letting go vs. holding on. I absolutely see the freedom in being able to let go – of things, memories, people, places. I see the benefit in always being present. BUT…. the romantic in me, the poet in me sees the beauty in holding on. Symbolism and artistic representation is built on memory and feelings. Holding on is often what gives us context for the present moment.
But I think it goes deeper than that. It’s more than holding on, letting go, establishing roots, or forever wandering. I was engaged to a woman who I suspect was a wanderer. She had been married for a number of years, but she’s moved quite a bit (even when married, they moved around a lot). I sometimes wonder how many of those moves were attempts at quelling some form of dissatisfaction. For her, is moving on a away of life? For most of my life I’ve been the opposite. I’ve been Mr. Steady. There was always a good chance you would find me just where you left me. It’s why I thought she and I were good a good fit. She might teach me to let go and I might teach her to hold on. With her, I felt different. With her, I was ready to move about more freely. I figured we would probably do that every three, five, or ten years. I didn’t mind the idea of being a tumbleweed because I knew I had another tumbleweed blowing through towns and down highways with me. That said, it’s not something I think I want to do on my own. That type of adventure feels like it’s meant to be shared. And yet here I am, about to make my second move within a year. I’m afraid that once you start down the path of always letting go, you learn to never hold on.
I hesitate to say I’m afraid of being alone. I don’t think I am – I’ve been alone now for over a year and a half. Yet just yesterday, I was complaining to my dad that I’m not sure I want to live in State College for a prolonged period of time. It’s not near an ocean or decent mountains. It certainly doesn’t have the feel of a city – or the amenities. And it doesn’t have the population to sustain a decent dating pool… and for me that seems to be the kicker. It feels stupid to have the potential (or lack thereof) for finding a partner be a deciding factor in where I go… especially since I don’t even know if I’m open to finding a partner. I still have too many days where it seems like that type of connection was a one-time deal. I know, or I suspect, I will be a lot less inclined to be open to someone new if I can’t find anyone that interests me. Shallow pools breed mosquitoes, and while they love me, I’m not a fan of them. I’m not sure how important finding someone should be – it just seems like it has the potential to make the good things better and the crappy things bearable.
What made Hannibal’s statement a punchline was that there were always glitches and circumstances threatening to derail the plan – it never came together as intended. I moved to Memphis not knowing where it would lead me or for how long. I expected it to be longer than it’s been. I prepare to head to State College with even less of a plan… and maybe that’s the bigger lesson in all of this. At various times while writing these many many blog posts I’ve thought about what the book might be called. “Learning to Walk Slowly” “The Art of Letting Go.” I had hoped my ex-fiancee might teach me how to be a bit more free. Maybe that’s a lesson I can only learn on my own.